Bound by Her Promise

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked.

He smiled. “When I leave for work in the morning, I’m hard. Sleeping next to you… you’re a temptress. From now on, I want to wake you up so you can take me in your mouth, make sure I leave this pod with a smile on my face.”

“If that is what you’d like, sure,” she said. The early starts would be hard, but at least she could go back to sleep.

He cupped a hand about her breast. “Your bottom must be sore after those spankings. I’ll rub balm into it. Then, because touching you always makes me stiff, we’ll spend the rest of the day making love. What say you, wife?”

“Making love,” she repeated, her juices flowing freely again. “Yes. Let’s do that.”

Chapter Eight

Two days had passed since Sym’s caning and Lysa was pleased to see her upright and recovering from her ordeal. The first day, according to Jen, she’d spent crying in bed while Craig brought painkillers and the rare treat of hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t he stop it?” Lysa demanded to know. “What’s a husband for if it’s not to look after his wife?”

“She was caught red-handed,” Jen had explained. “Anyway, Craig is all show and no bottle. That scar he’s got, you’d think he got it in a fight or something. Nope, tripped up and fell through a pane of glass. He would never stand up to Harkess or that evil constable. Once the punishment was over, he whisked her

away and took care of her himself. At least Dr Lamont didn’t get to paw her.”

The three of them met up in the atrium under the huge apex of the habitat dome. The giant Jupiter hung in the sky above them, a swirling mass of redness. Lysa suspected Sym’s poor bottom looked very similar, in contrast, her pale face had lost all of its glow. After a brief spell of shopping, when Lysa purchased food supplies, she made her excuses.

“I have things to do,” she said, clutching the bag of goods to her chest.

“Things?” Jen rolled her eyes. “What could you possibly find to do? You do seem to like gardening.” She scowled.

“It passes the time.” Lysa backed away. She couldn’t tell them the truth, how each morning Blake had logged on to the system and with everything set up, a wealth of new engineering knowledge beckoned to her.

She came close to skipping down the corridor. Once she’d homed the shopping, she settled in a chair, armed with the detachable monitor screen, she called up various schematics for the mine and the vast underground network of tunnels. A massive labyrinth that stretched for miles under the surface. She tapped on one coded line, zoomed in and read the specs, purring to herself with satisfaction. Life was swinging along beautifully once more.

Two hours raced by and a dry mouth ended her session. She logged off and returned the tablet to its wall mounting. Sipping on a glass of minty water, she pondered over the rivalry between the wives. It seemed shameful, casting the women in a bad light and stifling any chance of equality. Who would listen to a bunch of women who couldn’t even work together? Glancing at the time, she had a few hours to spend before Blake returned home. Changing into her work pants, she went to the Green Dome.

She found one other occupant—Ursula—tending to the tomato plants. Ursula smiled as Lysa approached. She wasn’t typical of the other lifers. Quiet, unassuming and she kept her own company.

“Hello,” said Lysa. “Nobody to keep you company?”

“I prefer it this way,” said Ursula plucking a tomato and putting it in a basket.

“Let me help you.” Lysa added another tomato. “How long have you been here?”

“Nearly three years. Finn finishes in two months, then we can go home.”

“That’s exciting for you. You must have seen many wives come and go.”

Ursula chuckled. “Yes, many.”

“Is there always friction between us, you know Corporate wives, and the others?”

She guffawed “I wouldn’t say deep friendships form, but recently things have gotten worse.” She turned away.

“Millicent?” ventured Lysa.

“Possibly,” murmured Ursula. She picked up the basket. “That’s enough for now. I’ll leave these in the cold store to be collected.”

Lysa touched her sleeve. “Did Millicent set up Sym?”

Ursula froze, her shoulders hunching. “I… can’t say. I wasn’t there when it happened.” Without looking back, she hurried off, leaving Lysa holding a vine in her hand and the belief Ursula had lied to her.

Something had to be done—but what, and should she be the instigator of change?